This is an open and unfiltered diary-style journal
on the life of James Robert Smith.
This blog will contain sometimes graphic experiences (both beautiful and ugly),
sometimes stark insight, and all honest and factual documentation of dreams, diet, activity, and thoughts.

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Monday August 1 2011

DREAM: My dreamself has obtained a moped, light green in color. Apparently I bought it off some guy on Craigslist for an affordable price. Leaving my 1435 townhome with it and riding to my old house at 1623 Michigan Avenue. It’s nighttime. I pull up to the house at the same time as Stephanie Lou—she’s strutting a hefty red dress and riding her own moped, red in color. She yells out to me, “Look at you! You’re riding something Leisa would never get.” It’s understood there was a conversation the other day where Leisa exclaimed she just wouldn’t ever buy a moped for whatever reason. My engine seems to be giving out, but just in time. I walk into my old home—my dad is living here now—most of my other roommates are here as well. There’s a puddle of water spilt on the kitchen floor. I get angry, “Are you serious? Not only does this happen at 1435 but now here too?!” No one seems to care. Anthony recently baked homemade Berry Streusel Bread that he’s very proud of. Eating a slice—it tastes delicious. Everyone else joins me…

Waking up a little bit earlier for China Wok so I have time to complete some prep work. Yesterday was non-stop and I didn’t even start the snow peas…

Breakfast: Peaches and Orange Juice. Zinc.

Working W6r25ng W6r25ng Working.

Watermelon…this one’s okay.

A slow relaxing afternoon…packing the bags—snapping the snow peas…

Lunch: Chic-fil-A Sandwich with Waffle Fries. Sweet Tea.

My half-assed vegetarianism shines bright…

A regular walks into the restaurant…he sees me with the snow peas…“Pickin peas! Pickin peas! You’re momma would be proud.”

A guy from 1436 Taureau Court calls in an order. I joke over the phone how I live at 1435 Taureau Court. His total comes out to be $14.37.

Lemonade.

This lyric from Apartment Story by The National always comes back to haunt me…

“Oh we’re so disarming darling, everything we did believe

Is diving diving diving diving off the balcony

Tired and wired we ruin too easy

Sleep in our clothes and wait for winter to leave

Hold ourselves together with our arms around the stereo for hours

While it sings to itself or whatever it does

When it sings to itself of its long lost loves

I’m getting tied, I’m forgetting why…”

It’s the kind of work shift where I can lay back in the driver’s seat while I coast the streets of Hilltop and say to myself Take it easy, Robert. Take it easy. That’s how slow it is today.

I hear a tap at my bedroom door. It sounds like a girl’s. It’s Margot. She steps in without permission, shuts and locks the door, and smacks her lips on mine—she’s crying into my white Philip Uster t-shirt smearing some of her mascara into it. I wasn’t supposed to see her until at least Wednesday. But she’s here…

I missed you…

Baby, I missed you…

It turns sour shortly after. She brings up her insecurities over Raven being friends with me—making it sound like I need to make a choice—like choosing one over the other…

“Margot, this is ridiculous! This isn’t a war. I’m not choosing. I’m friends with her and that’s it. I’m still yours. I’m on your side…”

Becca’s here now because she’s supposed to cut my hair.

Outside, I’m standing by Margot’s car door—she just wants to spend the night with me and “make love to her boyfriend.” It’s a great gesture and I love the idea. But something is wrong. I’m exhausted. Becca’s waiting inside the house to cut my hair. I want to shower then go to bed. I’m tired. I don’t have healthy energy for the queen tonight. But she’s terribly sad and has been the past two days without me. She says she feels sick…

Her: I don’t want to start over…I’ve given so much of myself to you…

Me: I know how that feels…I feel the same way…

I can’t explain where the turning point occurred but skip a few minutes…and there’s yelling…she’s picking a fight with me…threatening to key my car if I walk off…she’s just not in a right state of mind, nor am I. She’s sobbing and heaving and weeping and crying…God, what is wrong with her? I hate seeing this. I hate that she feels such an intensity of pain. We’re not breaking up. But it feels like it. And we’ve both lost hope. I don’t know. Maybe I’ve gotten numb to these episodes, which is unhelpful, but a bad sign.

Becca finally cuts my hair all the while Kelley is tending to Margot outside trying to be a friend and help understand…

Now I have a mushroom head.

She left but called me multiple times while I was showering………Having an hour long phone conversation……same points made…same words shared…a few new revelations…this was not part of the plan tonight…I didn’t plan on using my energy tonight on this…I’ve been relaxed the past few days, uneasy about things, but relaxed—trying to allow the space to give me perspective…

Becca keeps sending me these little insightful texts…

“There’s a problem when a patient man loses patience.”

“Not to be funny, but you need to lay down the law, and that’s it. It would be better for her than baby spoon feeding her.”

“If talking isn’t solving or helping anything then its probably more beneficial to not talk.”

“Well if she cares about you then she’ll respect what you have to say and respect the law you lay down for yourself. Otherwise she only cares about what you can give her.”